Hardly Ever
by coffeebuddha
Summary: Waking up with the prince doesn't guarantee you the fairy tale ending. It's the morning after and Derek can't find his pants.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** I was poking through my stuff, reread the summary for Pantsed, and thought to myself, 'Self, that's a summary that could have been taken in a completely different direction.' So...yeah. Yay for obligatory hetero freakout stories? Also, how does ffnet not have hetero freakout as it's own genre? Seriously, they need to get on that.

* * *

Derek wakes slowly, his head feeling like it's about to explode, and groans as he tries to pull the covers up over his face to block out the light. He tries, but he doesn't succeed, because there's something heavy and warm weighing his arm down. He stills, realizing for the first time that wherever he is doesn't smell like home. When he cracks open his eyes, manfully holding back a grimace, it doesn't look like home either. He frowns, blinking some of the spots from in front of his eyes, and squints down at the lump draped over him. Mostly he can just see the top of a head, resting on his sternum, crowned with light brown, wavy hair that's tickling his chin.

When he inhales, he can smell the smoke and sweat from the club, but underneath it, there's something familiar and comforting. It's relaxing, which makes Derek notice just how tense he had been. As the tension eases out of his body, his bedmate shifts and...Oh, God, is that stubble that just rubbed against his chest?

All his original tension is back and it brought friends. Derek wriggles to the side, trying to get out from under the _guy_ on top of him without actually having to touch him. His movement disturbs the other man, who taps his fingers clumsily against Derek's chest and mumbles sleepily, "Go back t' sleep. 'S too early t' mmmnn..."

The sentence trails off into incoherency, but Derek's gone still. He knows those fingers. He knows that voice.

Oh, fuck.

Wait! Wait, does he still have clothes on?

_Fuck._

He fucked Reid.

And that's when Derek falls off of the bed and onto the floor, the first fractured memories of last night flashing in front of his eyes.

_bass pulsing, walking sex in fuck me heels rubbing against him, Reid sitting at a table with Garcia while silently watching him and mouth fucking the straw in his drink_

Derek presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and groans. When he looks up, a bleary eyed Reid is peeking over the edge of the bed, looking more concerned and less surprised than Derek would have thought.

"Morgan? You alright?" Derek gapes at Reid, his mouth working, but no noise coming out. Reid just looks back, his expression getting more uncertain the longer the silence stretches. "Morgan? Derek?"

Derek swallows dryly, tastes bile in the back of his throat, and unsteadily stumbles to his feet, snatching a folded blanket from the floor near the end of the-very rumpled-bed to wrap around his waist. He sways on his feet, the flecks of white swimming in front of his eyes again. Reid's still staring at him, barely covered by the comforter, and Derek shakes his head, not sure if he's answering the question or trying to get the visual to go away. All it really does is make him gag a little. "I don't know what happened last night, kid, but I'm about to throw up, and I'd rather not make things more awkward by doing it on your bed."

Derek winces at his choice of words, but Reid doesn't seem to notice. Now he's the one giving Derek a poleaxed look. After a stunned second, he silently points in the direction of a door just visible through the open bedroom door. Derek nods in thanks and escapes into the small, tiled room to empty his stomach of whatever is still left in it.

_stumbling into the club bathroom, Reid at the sink, too tall to comfortably rest his head on his shoulder, but easy enough to slip his arms around his trim waist and nose apart his hair to get at the back of his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his hands sliding toward Reid's waistband_

After he's done throwing up, Derek rinses out his mouth and leans his forehead against the mirror. This is really, really, really not good. He can't even begin to think about how this is going to change things. It's going to be bad and uncomfortable and people are going to notice, because 'no profiling each other' aside, he works with a group of people who are paid to notice things that you'd rather keep secret. The bathroom is small and cluttered and mildewy, but Derek's more than a little tempted to lock the door and have all his mail forwarded to it for the foreseeable future. But that's hardly an option, so instead he hesitantly eases back into the hallway, nearly tripping over his own wadded up t-shirt.

_Reid pressed hard between the wall and his body, long fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, teasing the skin underneath, frantic, wet ohgodmoremoremore kisses, Reid's mouth tasting sweet and tangy and intoxicating_

He tugs it on as he makes his way back to the bedroom. Reid's out of bed, but he's still only covered by the comforter, held loosely around his waist, his eyes wide and confused behind his coke bottle glasses. "Morgan?"

Derek blinks, because he's tired and hungover and he's fairly certain that he shouldn't be as distracted as he is by Reid standing awkwardly by an invitingly empty bed, naked under a blanket that's already showing way too much of his slim, pale, _marked_ body, biting his lips

_swollen and red and stretched around his-_

together. Derek blinks again. There is no way he is going to finish that thought. He looks around the room, feeling foolish and exposed in just his t-shirt and a blanket. "I need my clothes," he says, not quite able to keep the helpless tone out of his voice.

Reid watches him a moment longer, almost as if he's waiting for something, then his expression closes off and he moves past Derek to get to the hallway, his bare arm just barely brushing Derek's. Derek squeezes his eyes closed, trying to ignore the feel of skin on skin.

_a too soft mattress against his back, Reid-head falling back and back arched and moanscrieswantyouneedyougodyeslikethat slipping easily from between slack lips-moving above him, tight and hot and heavy, he's sinking and falling and flying, his fingers tangled in Reid's hair, pulling the genius-he really is amazing at _everything_-down for a kiss that does nothing to stop the noise, only muffle it a little _

His boxers are in the hallway, further from the bedroom than his shirt had been, and he pulls them on as he walks, dropping the blanket on the back of an oversized armchair. The living room is completely torn apart. Couch cushions and books and magazines are everywhere and a lamp has been tipped over.

_tripping over a cord, landing with a thump, Reid warm and laughing underneath him, pulling him closer_

Reid's in the corner of the room, looking around but not making any move to help. The comforter is slowly creeping up to cover more of his body, which is making Derek feel all sorts of conflicting things that he'd rather not examine too closely. He toes at the mess and wonders where the best place to start looking would be. He also wonders whether Reid expects him to stick around long enough to help clean up. He might if the kid asks, but he really hopes that he won't.

"Morgan?"

Derek bites back a groan and runs a hand over his head. "Not really in the mood to talk, kid."

"But, about last night, I think you should know-"

"Look, I just want to find my fucking pants so I can fucking leave!" Derek snaps. He's too busy scanning the room to notice Reid's flinch, but he looks up when the younger man turns and disappears behind a corner into the entranceway. "Kid?"

Reid's walking back his way within seconds, his comforter adjusted so that it's over one shoulder and under the other, most of his body modestly enswathed from the neck down, and in his free hand are Derek's pants. "If you mean these, they didn't make it as far as the living room."

Derek can't read Reid's voice or expression, which might bother him if he wasn't so incredibly happy to have his pants back. He takes them, barely noticing the way that Reid holds them out-only the tips of his thumb and index finger touching the fabric, arm extended all the way to keep distance at a maximum.

"Now you can fucking leave." Reid's voice sounds distant and clinical, which Derek knows means he's at least a little stung and trying to cover it up. Derek suddenly feels like a complete ass. If he's freaking out like this, what must the kid be feeling?

"Look, kid," he begins, trailing off when he realizes that he doesn't really know what to say. What _does_ someone say when they've just woken up after having gay sex with one of their best friends/coworkers, especially when said someone is straight and has always operated under the impression that said friend/coworker is as well? Derek clears his throat and decides to wing it. "Last night was...well, we were drunk. Really, really drunk. It was an accident and, if I remember correctly, mostly my fault. I'm sorry. You have no idea how much. It was an accident, right? So it didn't mean anything. And since it didn't mean anything, there's no reason why we can't just keep things the way they always have been and pretend it never happened, right?"

Huh. Apparently you say almost the exact same thing to a friend/coworker as you would to a random one night stand. Reid's still just _looking_ at him-The kid's starting to turn green and were his eyes that red before? Huh, his hangover must finally be catching up with him-but at least he doesn't look like he's about to have a meltdown or freak out, so Derek counts the talk as a success.

* * *

Spencer stands and stares at his closed front door for a long time after Morgan leaves. His head is pounding, but more from the sharp tightness of suppressed tears behind his eyes and his rapidly whirling thoughts than anything else. Morgan hadn't called him pretty boy or Reid or Spencer or anything but kid since they'd woken up. He had said that they could forget it, could just pretend like it had never happened. That it didn't mean anything because they'd both been drunk.

Only...

Only Spencer hadn't had anything other than ginger ale and water the night before.

* * *

_All the mistakes I've ever made in my life have been when I've been drunk. I haven't made hardly any mistakes sober, ever, ever. ~ Tracey Emin

* * *

_

This fic proves that I can't write anything but present tense when I write for Criminal Minds. I tried writing this about five different ways in past tense and it fought me all the way. Present tense? Relative piece of cake.

Self-betaed, as always, and it's late, not as always, so if there are any glaring errors, please point them out.

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize for the number of times I said fuck in this fic. I went back through after I wrote it and saw them all and had a 'boy, wouldn't my mother be proud' moment. :/ I'm normally not big on profanity when other words will work, but in this case, I don't know, it just seems like something that would be running through Derek's mind a lot.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

**ETA**: Over on LJ, there was a little concern about exactly how drunk Derek was and whether he was capable of giving consent. I'm aware that there's a lot of potential for gray areas here, but I just want to clarify that, while drunk, he was still lucid and sober enough to say no and stop what was happening if he'd wanted to, which will be reflected in the follow up. If I write one. I'm still torn on that.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Tesla? It's not even six yet."

"Can we talk? I really need to...not be alone right now."

"Spencer? What's wrong?"

"Bring the vodka. Or whatever that stuff you always try to get me to drink is."

"I really think I need to point out that it's not even six in the morning again. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Please."

A beat.

"Mimosas are always good with breakfast. I'll be there in five."

* * *

When Derek had shown up at Garcia's door less than an hour after leaving Reid's with no real destination other than 'away', she'd taken one look at him, shooed Kevin back into the bedroom, and pushed him toward the couch as she put on a kettle for tea and dug comfort food out of her pantry. Derek had convinced her to fix him coffee instead, but he hadn't objected to the cookie she pressed on him. He'd almost hugged her when she dropped a bottle of pain killers in his lap.

"So? Are you going to spill," Garcia asks, her expression expectant.

"This stays between us, right? You don't tell anyone, not even that boy you've got holed up in your room."

Garcia presses a hand to her chest and feigns hurt. "Oh, sweetie, I'm stung that you'd even think that I would tell anyone your dirty little secrets. You know how much I like having blackmail material handy."

"I had sex with Reid."

Garcia rolls her eyes. "Well, _duh_, gorgeous. With the way you were acting when you left with him last night, Helen Keller would have been able to see that coming. Wait, is that why you're so upset?"

"Isn't that enough? Baby girl, I don't _like _men and I woke up in bed with one this morning. And it was _Reid_. And the only thing you're surprised by is the fact that I'm not perfectly calm?"

If Garcia doesn't stop rolling her eyes at him, Derek's going to leave. "Eh, so you're straight. Does that really mean you can't be a little bent for Reid? I'm not saying turn into a rainbow or anything, but it's possible to have a teeny tiny kink for someone who doesn't have your usually preferred fun bits."

"You can't be serious." Derek stares at her, incredulous.

"Why not? Plenty of people have thought that they were completely gay or straight before they met someone who proved them wrong. Human sexuality is a lot more complicated than most of us would like to believe. Are you telling me that you've really never thought about it? Because for someone with absolutely no interest in Reid, you've certainly been throwing out a lot of signals. I mean, you call him 'pretty boy', gorgeous. Now, you're the profiler here, but if I happened to overhear a guy call another guy that? I wouldn't think they were just friends. The only thing that I'm surprised about is that it didn't happen sooner."

"You really think I'm attracted to Reid." Derek fiddles with his cookie, crumbling it between his fingers.

"I think you've wanted him for years. Probably almost as long as I've known you. You're just not good at admitting it to yourself. Now, stop being all gloomy and give me details. Don't leave _anything _out."

"Garcia-"

"You can either tell me what happened now or I'll keep bring it up _everywhere_ until you cave. Think of all the awkward questions that would start while you were with the team. Or out on a case. Or in front of Strauss."

Derek sighs. "Fine. It started last night when I was dancing and looked up and saw Reid watching me..."

* * *

"...and that's all I'm going to tell you. Except...No, that's all."

Garcia arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "Except? Does 'except' mean there's more? What happened?"

Derek swallows and stares down at his hands, not really trusting his memory. "I think he might have told me he loved me. I don't know. It was just after and I was half asleep." Derek grimaces a little and glances up at Garcia. "But it didn't mean anything. I mean, he was pretty drunk too, right?"

Garcia stares at him for a long moment, almost sputtering, before she manages to get herself back under control. "Derek, Reid almost never drinks, and he certainly wasn't drinking last night. If he told you he loves you, then he did it sober and I'd bet good money that he meant it."

Oh. _Shit._

"Okay, so that covers last night, but...Derek, what happened this morning? Oh God, please tell me that you acted like the kind, considerate gentleman that I know you are. Derek? Can you please tell me that?"

"Not exactly."

* * *

And that was why Derek found himself at Reid's apartment for the second time that day. Someone had been coming out of the building as he walked up, so he'd been able to get in without actually buzzing Reid. Which means that he has no idea Derek's here, and Derek wonders if that's a good thing or not. He stands at the door, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists, for several minutes before telling himself that he's being stupid and knocking.

There's a sudden flurry of sound from inside the apartment and two distinct voices talking. Derek frowns, shifting back a step, and ignores the sudden pang of jealousy in his stomach at the thought that Reid isn't alone. When the door opens, instead of Reid, he sees a petite redhead wearing one of Reid's long sleeved button ups over what appear to be her pajamas and holding a half empty bottle of champagne cradled in the crook of her arm. She leans against the door frame and gives him a brief, dismissive once over before asking, "Can I help you?"

Derek stares at her for a second, not really understanding what's going on, but when she arches an eyebrow and moves her head in a small 'well?' sort of gesture that's oddly similar to the one his mom always used to make when he was little, he snaps back to himself. "I need to talk to Reid."

The woman gives him another once over and this time her eyes are sharper. She straightens against the door frame and reaches out to hold the opposite side, blocking the entrance. It would almost be funny-she's whip thin and can't be more than five feet tall-except that the look she's giving him makes him think that trying to take her on would probably end poorly. Especially since her grip on the bottle has shifted so that she's holding it by the neck, which would make it much easier to swing as a makeshift weapon.

"Oh, you need to 'talk' to him, do you?" She doesn't actually make air quotes, but Derek can hear them in her voice. She's kind of starting to piss him off. "What about?"

"Yes, I do. It's personal, so either go get him or let me in." They scowl at each other for several seconds before the woman leans in closer.

"There are _rules_. You don't just pull shit like that on a friend. You shouldn't do it to anyone, but especially not to a friend. It's not kosher. You say anything to upset him? Well, I work in a kitchen with several ex-convicts who adore me, lots of sharp knives, and a very big meat grinder. Just so you know."

Derek sighs, too tired to really fight. "Understood. I really do just want to talk to him."

She looks at him again with those dark, cutting eyes and nods. "Tesla! I think you're going to want to deal with this one after all!"

"Come on, Amelia," Reid says as he appears though an archway, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. "Is it that hard to say 'We're not interested, try the neighbors'?" He drops a familiar arm around the woman's shoulders and grins briefly down at her before looking up. He stumbles when he sees Derek standing in the corridor. "Oh."

Derek studies Reid as the woman-Amelia-shifts further away from the door to lean against his side. Has he been...No. But maybe? "Are you drunk?"

Spencer lets out a short, humorless laugh and lets go of Amelia to take the bottle from her and pour some of the champagne into what looks like a novelty Star Trek glass half full of fizzy orange juice. "Not yet. Still working on it."

Derek frowns. "We need to talk."

Amelia glances at Derek for a second before reaching up to hook an arm around Reid's neck and pull him down to her level so that she can press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Reid's lips quirk to the side, but he doesn't look unhappy or uncomfortable, and when she pulls away, his fingers lightly brush her hair. "You know where to find me if you need anything, Tesla."

Reid nods, a small smile flitting across his face, and he waits until she's out the door before turning and passing through the archway into the kitchen. After a moment, Derek follows him.

"She calls you Tesla?"

Reid snatches a second glass off the counter and dumps it's contents down the drain, dropping it into the sink with an egg encrusted skillet and two dirty plates. He takes a sip from his drink and gives Derek a Look. "When I was a kid, I tried to build a Tesla coil. It exploded and I didn't have eyebrows for awhile. Amelia thought it was so funny that she started calling me Tesla as a joke and then it just stuck."

He isn't jealous. He _isn't_. He's just curious. "So, you've known her since you were kids then? Or are you just close?"

Reid rolls his glass between his palms, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Her dad taught at the same college as my mom. They were friends, so we were too by default. When she was in high school, he took a job at a private school near here. We stayed in touch and when she found out that I was moving here, she helped me get an apartment in the same building as her." Reid takes another sip and Derek is starting to suspect that he might possibly be a little jealous. "She lives a couple of floors up with her girlfriend and their daughter."

Oh. Derek suddenly feels foolish, which, judging by the narrow look Reid is giving him, is the way Reid thinks he should feel. "Look, kid-"

Reid's glass hits the counter with enough force that some of his drink slops over the edge and he looks angrier than Derek's ever seen him. "Stop calling me that! It's not a nickname or a term of endearment or anything but a way for you to remind yourself of how young I am; a way to create more distance between us and make sure everyone knows how you see me. That no matter how smart I am or how many cases I help solve, you still don't think of me as your equal. Before last night, I let it go. But now? You fucked me and you're standing in my kitchen refusing to look me in the eye, and maybe I'm not getting out of this situation with all of my dignity intact, but you could at least do me the common courtesy of calling me by my name."

Derek frowns and rubs the back of his neck. "I never meant-"

"What are you _doing _here, Morgan? We both know it's not to find out more about my childhood friendships or the deeper significance of your little names for me, so why are you here?"

"I just want to talk. About what happened last night. And about what I said this morning, because I wasn't thinking and after I remembered what happened, well, I just thought we should talk."

Something in Reid's expression shifts and softens until he doesn't look mad anymore. Just tired. He sighs and sits at a small table stuck in the corner and motions for Derek to take the chair opposite him.

"I'm still a little confused about last night."

Spencer snorts. "You came up behind me in a bathroom, stuck your hands down my pants, pulled me into a stall where you preformed oral sex on me, and then we came back here and fucked. What about that is confusing?"

Derek sighs and wonders if it would be rude to ask for a drink. Of course, considering what happened the last time he drank around Spencer, it probably wouldn't be prudent. Also, it still isn't even noon yet. He drums his fingers against the tabletop and frowns.

"No, I've got all that. It's more, I don't know, what I feel about last night. I mean, some of the things that were said...I was telling the truth. You know that, right? There's a reason I call you pretty boy. You're gorgeous. And we both know how smart and amazing you are. I've just never considered you in that way before. But you," Derek pauses for a moment, uncertain, before continuing. "You said you loved me. Or at least I think you did. I was pretty out of it, but I'm almost positive...Did you mean it?"

Spencer lets out a long, shuddering, almost laughing breath. "Is it really important?"

"I think it is."

"I did say it."

"And?"

Spencer looks away, suddenly very interested in his fridge. "And what? I said it. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. But it's fine. You're not interested. I know that. After this morning, how could I not? You don't have to worry about hurting me or anything. I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine. Everything's fine."

"Spencer." Derek stops tapping his fingers and rubs his face wearily. "You're not acting like someone who's 'fine'. I _did_ hurt you, which I never meant to do."

"Don't blame yourself. It's at least as much my fault as it is yours. Actually, it was more my fault. I should never have let it happen to begin with. You were drunk and I should have tried harder stop you."

Derek laughs and rolls his eyes. "Come on, Spencer. We both know I wasn't that drunk. And do you really think there's anything you could have said last night that would have changed my mind? I mean, I wouldn't have _forced_ you, but I wasn't exactly going to just sit back and settle for no as an answer."

Spencer's lips twitch in a small smile. "You were pretty persuasive." He glances up at Derek through his lashes, his blush going a little bit darker. "And graphic about what you wanted to do..."

A wash of heat goes through Derek as he remembers the things he'd said and he swallows thickly.

"I'm not in love with you."

"Clearly."

"But," Derek says, reaching out to stroke the tips of his fingers down the back of Spencer's hand, "I do care about you and we're good friends and, after last night, I don't think either of us can pretend that I'm not attracted to you. And if Garcia is right, and she usually is, I've been attracted to you for years. I've just been suppressing it because I didn't know how to handle it."

Spencer licks his lips, his eyes locked on their hands. "What are you saying?"

"There are plenty of successful relationships that have started with less." He waits until Spencer finally looks up at him before intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. "If you're interested."

For a moment, Spencer looks so stunned and happy that Derek almost can't stop himself from leaning across the table to kiss him. Then, that happiness crumbles and Reid pulls his hand away. "I think it's time you left."

Derek slowly pulls his hand back to his side of the table and blinks at Spencer. "What?"

"If I said yes, then in a couple of days, possibly sooner, you would really regret asking. It's a bad idea. In fact, compared to this, last night was a moment of brilliance. So, no." Spencer's gaze flickers around the room, looking at everything but Derek.

"I wouldn't regr-"

"You're confused, Morgan. You think you know what you want, but how can you? You just admitted that you've never consciously looked at me like that before last night, and now you suddenly want a relationship? And I'm supposed to take you seriously?"

"You don't think I'm serious?" Derek slowly stands up, crossing his arms across his chest, and glowers at Spencer. "You think I don't know what I want?"

"What I think is that last night you did something you never would have even considered sober. I think that I don't know why you decided that you wanted to have sex with a man, but I'm fairly certain that the only reason you chose me as your partner instead of any of the other men there was because you trust me and knew I wouldn't hurt you. I think that I made a foolish decision in letting you convince me that last night was anything but a bad idea.

"I also think that studies have proven that the act of sexual intercourse releases chemicals that simulate feelings of love and closeness. I think that this is just those chemicals talking and that once they wear off, any feelings you think you have for me will wear off with them. That is what I think." Spencer stands, his gaze fixed just above Derek's right shoulder. "And now I think it's time for you to leave."

Instead, Derek grabs him hard by his upper arms and kisses him. Spencer goes rigid against him, his lips unresponsive and pressed firmly together even as Derek lightly runs his tongue over them.

"I want this," Derek growls against Spencer's mouth. "I want you. And I know you want me too, so why the fuck are you over thinking things? It isn't about sex, it's about taking something good and making it better. We could be good together, Spencer."

"Let me go," Spencer says, his voice tight.

"Now that's something I _don't_ want to do," Derek says, but his grip loosens until he's just holding Spencer's arms instead of squeezing them. "After last night, do you really think you can pretend you don't want me?" He leans closer, his breath warm against the shell of Spencer's ear, and nuzzles at his jaw. "We both know you love me."

Which is when Spencer winds his leg around Derek's and pulls with a sharp jerk, wrenching his bad knee. Derek yelps in pain and stumbles back against the table. Spencer looks almost murderous as he points a shaky finger in the direction of the front door.

"This is not about me being in love with you. It's about me not being stupid. I'm not going to tell you again. Get. Out. Now."

* * *

_Emotional occasions, especially violent ones, are extremely potent in precipitating mental rearrangements. The sudden and explosive ways in which love, jealousy, guilt, fear, remorse, or anger can seize upon one are known to everybody...And emotions that come in this explosive way seldom leave things as they found them. ~ William James

* * *

_

Please don't kill me! There _will _be a third part.

_HUGE _thanks to runriggers and topetine over on LJ, who were amazingly nice and held my hand when I had a characterization freak out. I agonized over the characterizations on this one. Considering the circumstances, I'm fairly confident that they're all pretty good now, but if you read anything that makes you think 'Wait. What? That's just...no.' then please let me know.

As I mentioned to topetine last night, Amelia is a character who's been floating around my head in various incarnations-she started out as Spencer's childhood sweetheart before I realized that she was _totally_ a lesbian-almost since I started watching the show. When I saw a chance to write her into the story, I couldn't really resist. She is, clearly, very protective of Spencer.

Feedback is always wonderful.


	3. Chapter 3

After throwing Derek out, Spencer manages to stay in his apartment for nearly an hour before all of the too recent memories of the last twenty-four hours become so oppressive that he can't breathe. He stands on the landing to his floor for several minutes before turning and climbing up. He belatedly remembers that Amelia would have had to go in to the restaurant to supervise the lunch crowd when Karen, Amelia's partner, answers his knock.

While Amelia is dominated by sharp angles and an even sharper tongue, Karen is all warm, comforting curves and words. A soft spoken, Southern pastry chef who met Amelia when she applied for a job at her restaurant, Karen always smells faintly of vanilla and, while Amelia swears that it's happened and is one of the scariest things she's ever seen, Spencer can't remember even once witnessing her lose her temper in the four years he's known her. She reminds him more than a little of June Cleaver, and right now she's giving him such an 'Oh, you poor, poor _dear_' look that he's suddenly tempted to turn around and deal with his apartment. Before he can, Karen has him by the arm and is pulling him into the kitchen and pushing him onto a stool.

He opens his mouth, ready to make his excuses and leave or blurt out the entire story-he's never really certain _what _he'll end up saying when he's alone with Karen-but she flaps a hand at him and makes a shushing noise as she bends to check the oven. When she opens the door, the rich, mouth watering smell of chess pie floods the kitchen and Spencer can already feel some of the tension beginning to seep out of his muscles. "It's almost done," she says with a smile, already moving to start a pot of coffee.

Spencer's never been as comfortable around Karen as he is with Amelia, and part of the reason for that, aside from the lack of a long history of interaction, is her almost unnerving ability to relax into most situations, even the awkward ones, and let things develop slowly and naturally. Still, when she pushes a mug of coffee-fixed with just the right amount of cream and sugar-across the island to him and turns to carefully cut into the sweet pie, he has to admit that he's already feeling better than he probably would have if he'd found Amelia like he'd been planning.

Instead of immediately prying for details, Karen settles on the stool beside him with her own cup of coffee and slice of pie and blithely chatters away. Fills him in on the fancy preschool they're trying to enroll Gwen in-"Would you mind terribly writing a little reference letter?"-the birthday party Gwen's currently at-"the mother's a bit high strung, bless her heart, but they're keeping the kids until tomorrow, so I really can't complain."-the new hires down at the restaurant-"don't see it working out. She completely _ruined_ the sauce."-and Amelia's younger sister, Lindley-"pretty certain she has a tiny crush on that Rossi man you work with. She spent a good half hour gushing about the syntax in his books the last time we spoke. Linguists. The sorts of things that turn them on never fails to surprise me."

It isn't until Spencer's halfway through his second piece of pie that she peers at him over the rim of her mug and arches an eyebrow. She doesn't say anything-_won't_ say anything if he chooses to ignore the look-but it's as clear an invitation to share as if she had.

"I suppose Amelia told you what happened," he asks. She pulls a wry face.

"Well, she told me her version of what happened. I've found that Amelia tends to exaggerate and even outright ignore facts in cases when she feels someone she cares about has been slighted. I'd rather hear it from you, if you're feeling up to it." Her face is tilted down toward her mug, but she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see what he'll decide. Spencer takes another bite of pie, chewing slowly and carefully as he thinks. After a few moments, he leans forward on his elbow and gives a short nod. Karen smiles encouragingly.

"He was drunk. He was the one who started it all at the club, but he was still drunk and I wasn't. I should never have let things escalate to the point of physical intimacy, but I just wanted so _badly_ to pretend...To pretend that he wanted me. People rarely do, and he's not just anyone. He's _Derek_." Spencer blinks hard and doesn't stop Karen when she shifts closer to rub soothing circles against his back. "I've, I've wanted him, loved him for so long."

Karen hums and rests the side of her head against his shoulder. "You thought it was your only chance. Maybe it wasn't a smart decision, but it was definitely a human one."

Spencer leans into her a little. "Yes. And he kept telling me things, like how attractive I am and how much he wanted me, and I let myself believe him. He's never given any indication that he might actually feel that way before and he has, well, he has a _past_, so I shouldn't have been so surprised when he panicked this morning. Then, when he showed up earlier, he suddenly started talking about relationships and he kissed me and the entire time, all I could think was 'this isn't real, he's going to hurt you, you need to stop this _now_'. So I kicked him out." Karen makes a small, sad 'poor baby' noise and wraps an arm around his waist in a half hug. He tenses for a second, then relaxes into her warmth.

"Gwen's father," Karen starts, then trails off, her brow creased and her eyes wandering as if she's organizing her thoughts. Spencer clutches his mug a little tighter, surprised that she's bringing him up. Karen had been pregnant with Gwen when she'd first started dating Amelia. Spencer had tried asking about the father exactly once, which had caused Karen to suddenly go very still and quiet and Amelia to glare at him. He'd dropped the subject and, after Gwen's birth, had followed their example in treating her as belonging equally to both of them.

After a minute, she starts again. "Gwen's father was a friend of mine. We'd known each other practically our entire lives. Our families vacationed together. He was my date at my cotillion. My mother was picking out china patterns and everything. We didn't love each other and he met someone when he went off to college, so I thought that was the end of it. We didn't see each other for a few years, until we both visited our families for the holidays. We were drunk and stupid and both coming out of relationships.

"And when I found out I was pregnant," Karen pauses, clears her throat, smiles when Spencer hesitantly touches her shoulder, "When I found out, he didn't take it well. Refused to believe she was his. I've talked to him since Gwen was born, and he still won't admit he's her father. She has two parents who love her and can easily provide for her, so I'll probably never press the issue, but...I know what it's like to have someone you thought cared about you hurt you, Spencer. This Derek of yours, maybe he's not going about it the best possible way, but he's trying to make things right. Clearly it would be foolish to jump into anything serious with him, but that doesn't mean you have to completely deny him a chance to prove that he isn't fooling around."

Spencer sighs again and rakes his fingers through his hair. "I just don't know. All I want right now is to stop thinking about everything for a while."

Karen gives him another of those sideways, knowing glances before pulling away, briskly smacking her palms against her thighs, and hopping to her feet. "Well," she says brightly, "I don't suppose you're in the mood for a Star Wars marathon? I promise we'll only watch the good ones."

Spencer blinks, then laughs and follows her into the living room, more than willing to be distracted.

* * *

"You did _what_? Are you a complete _idiot_? I thought we agreed that you were only going to talk to him!"

"That's all I planned on doing. I just got a little carried away."

"And what did not thinking get you?"

"He said no, physically incapacitated me, and kicked me out of his apartment." He'd actually been a little impressed, but he isn't going to tell Garcia that when she's glaring at him like she's considering throwing a mouse at his head.

"Of course he did, Derek! Spencer Reid is a classy lady. You have to _woo_ him!"

* * *

Spencer had ended up falling asleep on Karen and Amelia's couch on Saturday night, and spent most of Sunday sitting in their kitchen, eating whatever they put in front of him, and teaching Gwen how to make goo out of corn starch and water. She didn't understand the science behind it, but she was laughing instead of crying, so he considered it a triumph over the Reid Effect.

When he makes it to his desk Monday morning, he pauses, surprised by a gaudy, ribbon wrapped box of chocolate covered espresso beans. He pokes at it suspiciously before looking up and catching Derek watching him. He scowls and pushes the package to the corner of his desk, pointedly ignoring it. When Derek finally wanders away in the direction of his office, Spencer drops the beans in his bag and tries to convince himself that he isn't fighting back a small smile because Derek brought him sugary caffeine.

He's late on Tuesday morning, which means Emily, JJ, and Garcia are waiting at his desk, gathered around the dozen roses when he arrives. That gives him another pause, although not nearly as pleasant, because, _really_? Roses? Isn't that a little cliche? He considers the disappointed look on Derek's face when he divides the roses among the girls and sends them away without answering anything fair payback for the surprise round of twenty questions he's just had to endure.

On Wednesday, when he finds a symphony ticket with a question mark drawn on it, he drops his bag and heads to Derek's office, walking in after a single, short knock. Derek looks up, startled, when he walks in and waves the ticket at him. "Why are you doing this, Morgan?"

Derek smiles. "What? I thought you liked Mozart."

Spencer crosses his arms and frowns sternly to show that he is Not Amused. Derek's smile falters and he shrugs.

"I just want a chance, Spencer. It's fine if you think that I'm not serious right now, but will you at least let me try to prove you wrong?"

"So far your plan to prove me wrong has consisted of showering me with gifts like I'm a girl. Excuse me if I'm a little less than impressed with the obvious amount of thought and preparation you've put into courting me."

Derek sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm a little out of my depth here, pretty boy. I've never tried to date a guy before. Meet me halfway?"

Spencer's lips quirk in a little half smile. "I'd rather meet you at the symphony." Derek's jaw drops and he looks like he's about to say something, so Spencer hold up a hand to silence him. "Just as friends. I'm still not ready to believe you want to date, but if you want to spend more time together outside of work, then I'm open to that."

"If that's what it takes."

* * *

_There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart...pursue those. ~Michael Nolan

* * *

_

Sorry for accidentally lying. I really did think it was going to be a three parter, but then I started typing it all up and it was getting so long and pissing me off and I thought, 'Screw it, this is getting annoying, I'm just going to cut it in half.' The for real last part will probably be up tomorrow night.

Thanks to topetine over on LJ for reassuring me again about my OCs. OCs are hard, y'all. I never feel like I know when I'm going too far or not far enough.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviews! Your kind, encouraging words make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. :D


	4. Chapter 4

They get called in on a case late Wednesday night. As far as cases go, it isn't a terribly difficult one, but things move so fast that Spencer doesn't have time to talk to Derek about what it means for their personal plans. Honestly, he doesn't even really have time to think about what it means for their personal plans. He falls asleep within minutes of boarding the jet-waking only once to see Derek dozing by his feet, a warm hand carelessly draped over Spencer's ankle-and heads straight home after they land. When he stumbles into the office on Tuesday morning, he's almost managed to convince himself that Derek will have forgotten about this whole 'dating' thing. The idea is both soothing and disappointing, and only lasts until he reaches his desk and sees a C-3PO action figure propped up against his monitor, a new symphony ticket tucked in it's little plastic hands.

Spencer laughs, because Derek apparently can learn, this is _so much better_ than the roses, and when he looks up and catches the other man watching him, he doesn't even try to hide his grin.

* * *

By the time Friday night finally rolls around, Spencer has managed to work himself into knot of tension. His brain is still shrieking that this is a Bad Idea every few seconds. Karen had tried to help by forcing him to go clothes shopping with her, but all that means is that when he arrives at the concert hall in dark wash jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a sports coat, he's mentally _and _physically uncomfortable. He feels almost exposed without his tie. Still, when he seethe stunned look that flashes across Derek's face when he first sees him, he has to admit that maybe he owes Karen a thank you.

Unfortunately, that look ends up being the high point of the night. The orchestra is good, but a few minutes into the first piece, he notices that the woman on the other side of Derek keeps whispering to him in sharp, hurried hisses. He can _feel_ Derek getting tenser and tenser next to him as the woman gets louder and louder. When the lights finally come back on during intermission, she stands and turns to face him, her hands on her hips.

"Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

Spencer watches wide-eyed as Derek scowls at the woman, outright jumps when he drops an arm around his shoulders. "Sure. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but it was only one night and I don't remember either of us making any promises. Now, if you don't mind, I'm busy and you're disrupting my evening."

The woman gapes at Derek's arm around Spencer and turns to her friend with a loud cry of, "Oh my God! Why do all the men I sleep with end up being gay!" that makes almost everyone in the surrounding rows turn to stare at them. Spencer shrugs Derek's arm off of him and stands, his burning face fixed on the floor.

"I'm leaving." He doesn't wait for a response, just hurries toward the nearest exit as quickly as he can, vaguely aware that Derek is right behind him, sputtering out apologies and explanations. Once he's outside, the crisp night air cool against his face, he stops and waits for Derek to catch up.

"Spencer-"

"It's fine, Derek." Spencer stares up at the sky, a little disappointed that the city lights are too bright for him to see the stars. He feels distant, detached. "I'm not upset. I knew about your past. Besides, it's not like this was a date." Derek reaches out to grab his wrist, holding but not restraining.

"I wish you and Garcia would stop talking over me all the time. I know that wasn't good in there, but it wasn't my fault. I'm trying here, Spencer. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I really am trying to prove that I want to be with you, which isn't easy with you fighting me all the way. I don't know what I have to say to convince you."

Spencer purses his lips and turns his arm so that he can curl his fingers around Derek's wrist too. "I don't know either." He pulls out of Derek's grasp and starts walking slowly backwards. "I should go. I have to go with Rossi to do a recruiting class tomorrow. I'll see you on Monday."

"I'm not giving up!" Derek calls after him. Spencer snorts a short laugh.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

* * *

Derek wipes his damp palms on his jeans before steeling his nerves and knocking.

"What the hell do you want?"

Derek bites back his annoyance and somehow manages a placating smile. "I need your help."

Amelia rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disdain. "Yeah, I heard about last night. Nice going, Romeo."

Derek grits his teeth. "Please."

"You must be Derek." Derek looks over Amelia's head at the sunny blond woman walking toward them, a little girl on her hip. She beams at him and moves around Amelia, gently nudging her out from in front of the door, reaching out to take him by the shoulder and tug him inside. "I'm Karen and this is Gwen," she says, bouncing the girl a little as she hides her face in her mother's neck. "Don't mind her, she's going through a shy stage. Have you eaten?"

His mouth flops open and closed a few times before he says, "No, ma'am," even though she has to be at least five years younger than him.

"Then you must be hungry. I'm just heading out the door to take Gwen on a play date, but I'm sure Amelia would be more than happy to put a plate together for you. Wouldn't you, Amy?" Karen's still all bright, happy smiles, but there's a brief firmness around the corners of her eyes and mouth that make Derek suspect that as far as she's concerned, Amelia will be happy to make him lunch _or else._

Amelia sighs in mock exasperation and leans in to ruffle Gwen's hair and kiss Karen. "Of course I will. You like lasagna?"

"Sure," Derek says, giving Karen a speculative look. She smiles sweetly at him again and slings a bag over her shoulder.

"Then that's all settled. We'll be back in a few hours." She pats the back of Derek's arm as she passes him and shoots a loaded look at Amelia. "Play nicely, children."

Derek blinks at the closed door. "She's something else, isn't she?"

It must be the right thing to say, because Amelia laughs and looks at him with approval for the first time. "Yep, she sure is. _Did_ you want something to eat? Because if you're hungry and I don't feed you, I'll never hear the end of it."

Derek shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "No, but I did want to talk to you about food."

"Oh? I'm all ears, Romeo."

* * *

There's a faint glow coming from his kitchen and jazz is playing softly in the background. Either the worst burglar ever has broken into his apartment, or he needs to have a serious talk with Amelia about what does and doesn't qualify as appropriate usage of his spare key. Spencer's pretty certain that he should feel a lot more indignant when he walks into his candlelit kitchen to find Derek plating two servings of Amelia's chicken marsala, but it's been a long day and he loves that chicken and he _loves_ Derek, so his glare is more of a token effort at disapproval than anything.

"Breaking and entering is a crime."

Derek straightens, apparently unconcerned with his illegal behavior. "I have a key. Plus, you owe me at least three-fourths of a date, since we only made it through the first half of the concert and a typical date is usually comprised of dinner and a show." He picks up a DVD case off the counter and tosses it to Spencer, who fumbles but doesn't drop it. "It's the Star Trek movie with the whales. I figured it would be a good choice since I'll probably fall asleep halfway though anyways."

"Derek," Spencer says a little helplessly, looking between the food and the movie and Derek. Derek moves closer until he's almost, but not quite, touching Spencer. He inhales, his eyes falling half shut, then exhales slowly. The movie slips from between Spencer's fingers when Derek combs his hair out of his eyes and grazes his knuckles over his cheekbone.

"I figure, nothing I say will convince you that I want this, so I might as well start doing everything I can to show you." Derek pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and holds it up between them. "All you have to do is say the word, Spencer. I'll call Hotch or Strauss or whoever you want and tell them that I want to be with you and don't care if they want to fire me because of it. I wouldn't do that if I didn't think this was forever."

"Oh God, you're serious." Spencer gawks at Derek as he gently pulls him into the circle of his arms.

Derek grins. "Took you long enough to figure that out, pretty boy."

Spencer hesitates a brief moment longer, before closing the space between them. He feels Derek's mouth under his, parted and relaxed, but still, letting him take the lead. He keeps the kiss easy-soft, gentle brushes that make his heart race and his mind scream _MINE_. He lifts a hand, needing to touch, and lightly traces the tips of his fingers along the edge of Derek's jaw, down the strong curve of his neck, over the sharp line of a collarbone, slowly refamiliarizing himself with things that he had frantically mapped with his hands and mouth two weeks before, his lips curving against Derek's in a smile when he feels the shiver that goes through the other man. He licks into Derek's mouth, his hands petting across the muscular swell of his biceps, the hard panes of his back and chest, and struggles to restrain himself from demanding more.

This can't possibly be his, but here Derek is, offering it all up to him.

When he pulls back after what feels like an impossibly long, and all too short time, he bites his lips together and rests his forehead against Derek's. "If we do this-do the whole relationship thing-we go slow. And if you start having doubts, I want to know about them the second they appear. Okay?"

Derek nods, his eyes locked on Spencer's lips, and licks his own. "Deal," he says, already reaching out to pull Spencer closer.

Spencer's hands, still pressed against his chest, keep him at a distance. "I'm serious." He swallows and tries to suppress the tremor he can feel building in his voice. His cheeks feel warm, flushed by the embarrassment of laying out his insecurities for another person to see and analyze and possibly laugh at. "If you broke my heart, I don't think I'd be able to recover from it."

Derek frowns. "Spencer, I care about you. I can't promise that I won't do something that will hurt you. In fact, I'm sure that I'll say and do plenty of things that will. But I...I can promise that I won't just _leave_. I'm here for however long you'll have me." Spencer gnaws on his lower lip and Derek cups his cheek, smooths his thumb across the abused flesh, freeing it. "You have to trust me."

Spencer leans into the touch and closes his eyes briefly, then smiles shakily. "I do trust you." A pause. "And I love you."

Derek's smile is so wide and happy that Spencer's breath catches and he turns his head to press a kiss to Derek's palm. Derek's fingers slip back into his hair and pull him down until their lips are just barely touching. "Good," he murmurs, his breath warm against Spencer's face, "I was starting to get a little worried here."

* * *

_True love never lives happily ever after - true love has no ending. ~ K. Knight

* * *

_

It feels like I've been working on this a hell of a lot longer than I actually have been. Like, months or years instead of a week. I hope you all enjoyed it!

Feedback is lovely and makes me want to do all sorts of nice things for you.

**ETA:** Small change to Spencer's thoughts, because even accidental plagiarism makes me uncomfortable.


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